Stan Of The Dead
by Caz Dowse
Summary: Stan's having a bad time. Wendy's dumped him and he's failing at school. But that turns out to be the least of his problems! It's all part of growing up in South Park!
1. Chapter 1

**Stan Of The Dead**

**This fic is based on my favourite film, Shaun Of The Dead. I started to write this before, but didn't like how it was going, so I've decided to start again. Hopefully it'll get finished this time!**

**I don't own South Park, which belongs to Trey and Matt, or Shaun, which belongs to Simon Pegg and Edgar Wright**

**Chapter 1**

Stan Marsh took a nervous sip of his milkshake and glanced at the angry girl sitting opposite him. Her mouth was moving, words were coming out, but he had no idea what they were. He looked across at another table where two of his friends, Kyle Broflovski and Kenny McCormick sat. Kyle made an impatient palms up gesture. Stan gave him a discreet shrug.

He turned his attention back to his girlfriend, Wendy Testaburger and tried to concentrate on what she was saying, but it was so hard. It wasn't that he didn't care…well actually it was. He didn't care. Not in the slightest.

He looked around the room again. Whistlin' Willie's Pizza Shack was almost full. He spotted some of his fourth grade classmates milling around near the video games and wondered idly what they were watching. His eyes travelled over the room, past the counter and the cash register where Whistlin' Willie stood, past Mary, the waitress, who was taking orders from a small group of fifth graders and finally stopped on the widescreen TV mounted on the far wall. It was tuned to a news channel and the report was about a radiation spill in North Park. The Army had quarantined the town, but there was speculation that the effects of the spill could hit nearby towns. Stan wondered what they meant by 'effects'.

"Stan!"

He jumped. "What?"

"You're not listening to me are you?" Wendy sounded hurt, not angry.

"Yes I was…" Stan protested weakly. He paused, trying to remember. "Er, you couldn't just give me a quick recap could you?"

Wendy's glare almost nailed him to the back of the booth. "We were talking about our future, Stan! Or rather I was. You were daydreaming!"

"See Wendy! I told you he'd be like this," said a voice from the next booth.

That sounded like Wendy's friend Red. Stan frowned. He'd forgotten that Wendy's friends were in the next booth. "Our future?" he asked, ignoring her.

"You know, what we're going to do when we graduate, that kind of thing!" Wendy said.

"Duh!" said another voice. Bebe, from the sound of it.

"I've got my career path all mapped out, but I have no idea what you want," said Wendy. "If we're going to be together we have to have the same ideals or our relationship isn't going to work, Stan."

Stan stared at her, his mouth hanging open slightly. He didn't really have any ambitions, apart from seeing the next Terrance and Phillip movie, and anyway, graduation was years away. He shut his mouth and tried to think of a way out of the conversation. All this talk of relationships and the future was getting too much for his pre-pubescent brain.

"Wendy, I'm ten. I don't know what I want to do when I graduate. I don't even know what I want for breakfast tomorrow."

"That's not good enough Stan!" Red said. "You can't expect someone like Wendy to be with a loser who spends all day drinking beer and playing video games! I bet you haven't even bought her anything for her birthday, have you?"

Stan felt his face redden. "Yes I have, actually!" he lied. "What's this got to do with you, anyway?"

"They're my friends," Wendy said quietly. "They're only looking out for me."

Stan sighed. He wasn't going to win this argument, he could see that. He thought hard for a moment. What did he really want to do? Some days he wanted to be an astronaut, other days a policeman. Living in a place like South Park, sometimes just getting through each day was an achievement in itself.

"Look, I'll think about it. I will!" he said. "I just don't know right now."

Wendy opened her mouth to reply but was cut off by a loud cursing from the group of fourth graders. Stan's other friend, Eric Cartman, pushed through the small crowd and stomped towards them, muttering to himself.

"Bad luck Eric!" Butters called after him.

"Its not bad luck Butters!" Cartman said angrily. "That game is fucking fixed!"

"Oh yeah of course it's fixed!" Token Black said sarcastically. "Nothing to do with you being crap at it!"

"Fuck you, you black asshole!" Cartman shouted and flipped him off.

"Look at Token, Stan! Now there's a guy with ambition!" said Bebe.

"And money!" said Heidi dreamily.

"Do you really want to be like him, Stan?" Wendy asked, nodding toward Cartman.

"I'm nothing like him!"

"No, not now. But we don't need a crystal ball to know what's going to happen to him."

"He'll either rule the world or end up on Death Row," Stan said.

"Exactly."

"That's hardly going to happen to me, is it?"

"What I'm saying is, you have to take control of your own destiny," Wendy said patiently. "And right now, you're not."

Stan was about to reply when a large shadow fell across the table. Cartman grinned down at them. Wendy glared at him.

"Hey Stan. S'up, hos."

"Go away Eric. This is a private conversation!" Wendy said testily.

Stan glared at the other booth. "Could've fooled me," he muttered.

"Not any more!" Cartman said to Wendy. He squeezed into the booth with difficulty, his large stomach pushing the table back as he sat down next to Stan. "So, what are we talking about?"

"Sta-an! Make him go away!" Wendy cried.

"We'll talk tomorrow Wendy." Stan looked pointedly at the other girls. "On our own."

"Ha! Bros before hos, bitches!" Cartman said triumphantly.

The girls got up, Bebe, Heidi and Red shooting varying looks of loathing at Stan. "Guess I'll see you tomorrow then," Wendy said flatly.

"Yeah."

The girls paid and left, all talking in low voices. Stan couldn't make out what they were saying, but he knew it was about him and that it wasn't complimentary. Ever since he and Wendy had got back together, Wendy's friends had been trying to split them up. Stan didn't know what they had against him, but he was determined not to let that happen. Things between them had soured recently, though, thanks to the malign influence of her so-called mates. He didn't think she'd listen to them, but he couldn't be sure.

"What did the coven want?"

Stan looked up. Kyle and Kenny were standing next to the table.

He sighed. "Oh, nothing. Just the usual bitchfest."

"Dude seriously, you don't have to put up with this," Kyle said. "Just dump her. No girl is worth this amount of misery."

"Yeah," agreed Kenny, his mouth obscured by his orange hood. "You should get in there first before she dumps you!"

"No!" Stan shouted, jumping up. "I'm not giving them what they want!" He looked around and lowered his voice. "Besides, me and Wendy are tight. She's not gonna dump me."

"You sure?" Kyle asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah." He swallowed hard. "I think."

Cartman, who'd been eating the rest of Stan and Wendy's pizza, stood up. "Well, hasn't this been fun?" he said sarcastically. He stretched and burped. "Who wants to come back to mine and play video games?"

"Yeah, okay," said Kyle. Kenny nodded.

"I don't know," said Stan cautiously. "I haven't even started that book report Garrison set us."

"The Harry Potter one?" Kyle asked in disbelief. "Stan, you've had a week to do that."

"I know! I just keep getting side-tracked by…stuff."

"I did mine the day it was set," Kyle said proudly.

"Yeah well, not everybody is a butt-kisser like you Kahl," Cartman said, ignoring Kyle's glare.

Stan smiled to himself. Kyle's smugness could be bloody irritating, especially when he knew he was right about something.

"You know what, I think I'll head home," he said. "I've got to hand something in tomorrow. My parents'll ground me if I get another F."

"But it's still early!" Cartman protested. "You've got time to play a couple of games Stan."

Stan chewed his lip, suddenly undecided.

"Call Of Duty, Stan," Cartman said, noting his friend's indecision. "We can't take that base without you, buddy."

"Leave him alone, Cartman," Kyle said. "You go home if you want to, Stan. Your grades are more important than some stupid video game."

Stan looked at his friends, and then at the large clock on the wall behind the counter. It was only 5.30pm. Cartman was right, it was early. But then again, so was Kyle…

"All right, I'll come," Stan said, after a few minutes of consideration. "But only for a little while, okay?"

"Okay Stan," Cartman said, slipping an arm around Stan's narrow shoulders. "Just a little while. I promise."

Stan glanced at his watch as he sprinted along Main Street and cursed loudly. 8.30! Why the hell had he let Cartman persuade him to stay for so long? Not only had he missed dinner (which his parents would be super pissed off about) but he'd left himself no time to do his homework. He turned into his street and slowed to a walk, panting hard.

It was then he became aware of the groaning. Stan stopped and looked around. The sound was coming from an alleyway that ran between two houses. He peered in, squinting in the increasing darkness.

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

Something stirred in the darkness. Stan took a few steps back as whatever it was began to move slowly towards him. He had almost backed into the road when the thing finally emerged into the light of a nearby lamp-post. It was a hobo, dressed in a long red coat and ripped jeans. His long light brown hair hung lankly over his face. He shuffled towards Stan, still making that horrible guttural groaning sound. As he came further into the light, Stan noticed something else. The hobo's coat wasn't red at all. It was covered in blood.

Stan swallowed hard. "Are you okay, dude?"

The hobo groaned loudly in answer. The sound echoed down the quiet street and caused all the hairs on the back of Stan's neck to stand up. He shivered. There was a familiar sense of wrongness in the air. He knew that feeling well, and he hated it. That feeling usually meant something bad was going to happen to the town and when it inevitably did, somehow he always got dragged into it. Well not this time.

"Whatever's going on, it's not my problem," he said slowly. It didn't help.

The guy's on something, that's all it is, Stan thought, trying desperately to rationalise things. He's fallen over and hurt himself, that's why he's covered in blood. What else could it be?

Whatever it was, he wasn't prepared to stay and find out. He ran all the way home, the hobo's forlorn groans following him. He didn't stop running until he was safely indoors, with the door locked firmly behind him.

**Chapter 2 up soon…**


	2. Chapter 2

**Stan Of The Dead**

**I don't own South Park, or SOTD**

**Chapter 2**

Stan looked down at his book report and sighed. It was absolutely terrible. That was the only word he could think of to describe it, although he was pretty sure that his teacher, Mr Garrison, would come up with something a little worse. He drummed his fingers on the desk and gazed at the classroom door, trying to come up with a suitable excuse before Garrison arrived. There was the truth, of course, but somehow he didn't think that would help.

The bell rang in the corridor and there was still no sign of Garrison. Stan wished he'd hurry up. He wanted to be put out of his misery and get the F he knew he deserved.

"Stan!"

Stan turned around in his seat. "What Red?"

"You haven't said hi to Wendy yet," Red said.

"Oh, sorry." He looked at Wendy. "Hey Wendy. Is that better?"

"Isn't there something else you want to say to her?" Bebe asked.

"Er…" He glanced at Wendy, who smiled at him hopefully. "…no."

Her smile began to fade, but Red and Bebe could barely suppress theirs. Stan realised he'd done something wrong, but luckily he was saved from any further interrogation by Mr Garrison entering the classroom.

"Okay children, let's take our seats. We've got a lot to get through today," he said as he walked to the front of the class. "Now, you may remember that I gave you a book report to do last week. I asked you to read one of the Harry Potter books and then explain why it sucks balls. I'm going to come round and collect that from you now so there's no chance of anyone copying from anyone else during my lesson. _Eric_."

Cartman gave him a 'Who, me?' look.

Garrison began to walk up and down the rows of desks, collecting homework and making random comments like: "Good try, Timmy", "Very nice, Annie," and "You were supposed to read the book not watch the movie, Eric!"

"Psst! Stan!"

Stan rolled his eyes and turned around to face Red, Wendy and Bebe again. "What?"

"Do you even know what day it is today?" Bebe asked.

Stan gave a frustrated sigh. They weren't going to let this go, were they? Why couldn't they just tell him what their problem was?

"Yeah. It's Wednesday," he said sarcastically.

All three girls glared at him, but he was past caring. It wasn't his fault that he didn't know what they were talking about. Why did girls have to be so goddamn cryptic?

"It's my birthday," Wendy said quietly.

This revelation hit Stan like a lightning bolt. He stared at her, openmouthed.

"Oh geez, Wendy…I-I thought it was next week!"

"It's today, loser!" Red said.

Wendy looked so downcast that Stan's heart sank. She looked as though she was about to cry. Unable to face her, he turned around and stared at his desk, his face burning with shame. He was so engrossed in his misery that he didn't even notice Mr Garrison until the teacher rapped on his desk.

"Earth to Stanley!"

Stan stared at him, completely confused. "W-What?"

"Gimme your homework, butt-for-brains!"

"Oh, yeah. Right." Stan handed him his book report. All the fears he'd had about it were so far from his mind, he could barely remember them – that is until Garrison said:

"What the hell is this?"

Stan shut his eyes. "It's my book report."

The rest of the class quietened as Garrison looked at the single sheet of paper Stan had given him. It was creased and torn and had a large muddy footprint across the middle of it.

"I can explain," Stan said meekly.

"This oughta be good," Garrison said. He rested his butt on Kyle's desk and waited expectantly.

Stan took a deep breath. "I admit, I forgot about it until yesterday and then I was late home and I tried to work on it but I was tired and couldn't really concentrate." Stan remembered the freaky hobo and suppressed a shudder. "I was gonna get up early this morning and do it but I slept through the alarm, so I did it on the bus instead, which would've been fine except the bus almost crashed trying to avoid some douchebag walking in the middle of the road and I dropped everything on the floor and by the time I found it again it looked like that."

"I don't give a rat's ass what happened, Stanley," Garrison said. He held up Stan's homework. "This is not a book report. Compare what you handed in with what Token handed in." He extracted another report from the pile in his hands and held it up for the class to see.

Stan looked up miserably. Token's report ran to several pages, was neatly printed and had a picture on every page. The suck-up had even laminated it.

"I feel sorry for you, Token," Garrison said. "It must be hard being stuck in a class full of retards." Several of the class glared at him. "What? You all know it's true!" he said, waving a hand dismissively.

Stan stared despondently at his desk. He could hear the girls whispering behind him, which made him feel worse.

The rest of the lesson dragged on interminably. He watched the clock, willing the time to go quicker so he could get out of the classroom and talk to Wendy. At last, after what felt like hours, the bell rang.

"Finally!" he muttered. He had just put his books into his bag when Bebe appeared beside his desk. He sighed. "What is it now?" he asked wearily.

Bebe smiled. Stan began to get irritated.

"Whatever you've come to say, just say it!" he said.

Bebe's smile grew wider.

"Bebe, cut me some slack, will ya!" Stan said. "I'm having a really crappy day already, if you hadn't noticed!"

"Wendy breaks up," Bebe said.

Stan dropped the book he was holding. "What?!"

"Wendy breaks up," she said again. She walked to the other two girls, who were waiting for her near the door. "Loser!" she said over her shoulder.

"But…no, wait!" he called, but Wendy and her friends had already disappeared into the mass of kids flowing along the corridor.

Stan slumped back into his chair, his bag hanging limply from one hand. He felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. He rested his head on his desk and choked back a loud sob.

"Get your ass out of my classroom, Stanley!" he heard Mr Garrison say from somewhere above him.

Stan got up and left the classroom, dragging his bag behind him. He wanted to talk to Wendy, but he knew that would be almost impossible with Bebe and Red hanging around her like a couple of bodyguards. If only he could get her on her own…He went outside to join his friends in the playground, his brow furrowed in thought. He needed a plan, and he needed it fast.

The old stereo was heavy and quite dusty. Stan put it down on Wendy's front lawn and looked up at her pink curtained window, blowing out a breath. For a moment he considered running away, but that would mean carrying the stereo all the way home again. Besides, this was all Wendy's fault. If she hadn't ignored him all day, he wouldn't have had to resort to this. He took a deep breath. It was now or never.

He bent over, his finger hovering over the 'Play' button…

"Stan, what are you doing?"

Kyle's voice made Stan jump. He glared at his friends, who were standing on the pavement behind him.

"What are you guys doing here?"

"We followed you over here," Cartman said. "Kahl thought you were gonna do something stupid so we figured the only decent thing to do was come and watch."

"Wendy won't talk to me if you guys are here," Stan said. "Get lost, will ya?"

"No way dude," Cartman said. "These are front row seats and I'm not giving mine up."

Stan sighed. "All right, fine. But keep your mouths shut, okay?"

"We can do that," Kyle said, shooting a warning look at Cartman.

Stan turned back to the stereo and took another deep breath. _There's still time to run away… _He exhaled and hit 'Play'.

Peter Gabriel's _Shot The Monkey _blared out, the vibrations from the speakers causing minor tremors under the boys' feet. Stan watched Wendy's window hopefully. At first nothing happened, but then she appeared. She looked down at him for a moment, her expression unreadable, and disappeared. Stan switched off the music – to the relief of his friends – and waited. Now he'd got her attention he could…

"Oh for fuck's sake!" he said loudly.

Two faces had appeared at the open window. Unfortunately, neither of them belonged to Wendy.

"Peter Gabriel?" Bebe said disdainfully. "Oh my god, you are so unoriginal!"

"What are you doing?" Red shouted. "Wendy's neighbours' are all sick, you inconsiderate jerk!"

"What?" Stan looked at the darkened houses on either side of Wendy's. "I didn't know that! What's wrong with them?"

"I don't know! Sounds like its contagious though, whatever it is."

"Look, I'm real sorry about that, but I need to speak to Wendy."

"Well she doesn't want to speak to you," Bebe said.

"Why don't you let her decide that," Stan said. His temper was beginning to fray.

"She already has," Bebe said.

"Really? I didn't hear her."

Red leaned a little further out of the window. "She doesn't want to see you because you're a big fat loser who forgot her birthday. Now get lost before we call the cops!"

"I'm not leaving until I've spoken to her!" Stan said. He folded his arms and stared at them defiantly.

"Then you're gonna be waiting a long time!" Red said.

"Why do you two hate me so much?" Stan asked. "What'd I ever do to you, huh?"

The two girls looked at each other. "We don't hate you," Bebe said. "Much."

"Why have you been trying to split me and Wendy up then?"

Red gasped. "We'd never do anything like that, Stan!" she said, with feigned innocence.

"That's bullcrap, and you know it!" Stan said. "You've been dripping poison in her ear for months and yeah, I'm not totally blameless, I get that, but you've been taking every opportunity to run me down! Like today when you got the whole school to sing Happy Birthday to her at lunch! You did that on purpose to humiliate me!"

"No, we did it because it's Wendy's birthday," Bebe said. "Geez, paranoid much?"

"Oh, whatever!" Stan said. He was so angry he could barely think. "Well congratulations, you finally got what you wanted you evil fucking psycho…WHORES!"

The word was out before he could stop it. Red and Bebe looked shocked. Behind Stan, Kenny sucked in his breath sharply and Cartman shook his head.

"He was doing so well," he said sadly.

Kyle looked at him.

"Rule number one: never insult your girlfriend's BFFs," Cartman said. "It's a classic rookie mistake."

Stan looked down at the ground, the rage draining out of him. He took a moment before he looked back up to the window again.

"I'm really sorry," he said.

The two girls regarded him with cold, unforgiving stares. To Stan's dismay, Wendy appeared beside them.

"I'm really really sor – "

"Save it Stan!" she shouted. "You know what, they were right about you. You are a loser!"

"No I'm not!" Stan paused and considered this for a few seconds. "Okay, maybe I am – a little – but they've been driving a wedge between us for – "

"You brought this on yourself!" Wendy said. She shook her head, tears filling her hazel eyes. "It's over."

"Oh and by the way, Wendy's birthday party is at the weekend," Bebe said. "Consider yourself uninvited!"

Wendy shut the window, making it clear that the conversation was over. Stan glared at Red, who was still watching him. She smirked at him. It was only for a second, but she made sure he saw it. Then the pink curtains were closed and Stan was left blinking up at the window, feeling nothing but frustration and confusion.

"Those bitches," he muttered. "They totally screwed me over."

He sat down on top of the stereo, shaking his head. "Today can't possibly get any worse," he said to the world in general.

Something cold and hard slammed into the back of his head. Stan blinked as the world began to slide away from him. "Spoke too soon," he said.

Then he slumped forward into darkness.

**Okay, not the best ending, but this chapter's been giving me a lot of trouble. The next one will be better!**

**Chapter 3 up soon…**


	3. Chapter 3

**Stan Of The Dead**

**Sorry to everyone who's been waiting for the update, but this chapter's been giving me some real trouble. I think I've sorted it now, but anyway, read it and see what you think.**

**I don't own South Park.**

**Chapter 3**

"Stan! Stan, wake up!"

Stan opened his eyes and groaned. The back of his head was throbbing and his cheeks and nose were numb from the snow. "Wha' happened?" he asked.

"Cartman threw a snowball at you, except he didn't realise there was a rock in it," Kyle said, glaring at Cartman.

"It wasn't my fault," Cartman said. "I was only trying to snap you out of that funk you were in."

Stan groaned again and rubbed his eyes. He sat up slowly and looked around, confused. Why were they outside Wendy's house? And why had he brought his dad's old stereo? His memories of the last few hours had been scattered like a shattered pane of glass and at first nothing made sense. After a few moments, the pain in his head began to subside and everything slotted back into place. He looked at Kyle, wide-eyed.

"Dude, she dumped me!"

"I know," Kyle said.

"She dumped me!" Stan said again. "And I made a complete ass of myself!"

"Yeah," said Kyle kindly, patting his shoulder.

"What am I gonna do?"

His voice cracked with emotion and he began to cry. He tried to wipe his eyes before his friends could see, but he wasn't quick enough. The other three exchanged awkward glances.

"I know what'll cheer you up," Kyle said. "Why don't we all go to Willies?"

"That's what you think will cheer me up?" Stan said.

"I'll buy you a pizza."

Stan looked at him, his eyes still shining with tears. "The triple cheese Meat Feast?"

"Yeah. If you want."

"With extra fries?"

"Er…"

Stan sniffed loudly.

"…yeah sure," Kyle said uncertainly.

"Okay then," Stan said, wiping his nose with his sleeve. "I gotta take this home first though," he indicated the stereo with his foot, "so I'll meet you there."

"Okay. See you at Willies."

They hadn't been there very long, but Kyle was beginning to think that coming to Willie's had been a bad idea. The normally cheerful diner seemed to be in tune with Stan's mood: it was half empty – only two other tables were occupied – and the kids that were in there looked miserable and in some cases, ill. To cap it all, Lana Del Rey's mournful voice drifted through the diner like tumbleweed.

"God, are they trying to make us kill ourselves?" Cartman asked, trying to plug his ears with his podgy fingers.

"Don't let us stop you," Kyle said. "How are you doing, Stan?"

Stan shrugged. "I feel like crap and I've got a headache out to here, but apart from that I'm dandy."

"You're not gonna go Goth on us again are you?" Kyle asked anxiously.

"Nah. Been there. Done that," Stan said flatly. "I just feel kinda numb right now."

The boys looked up as Whistlin' Willie appeared at the table, carrying two very full trays. He was a large man, but the big plastic head he had to wear made him look even bigger. The head had a long white beard and a cowboy hat with a slice of pizza stuck to it. A pair of tatty blue dungarees completed the costume.

"You've got to whistle if you want your pizza!" Willie said. He whistled his gay little tune and waited expectantly. The boys exchanged weary glances and whistled half-heartedly. Willie nodded with approval and set the pizzas and drinks down on the table. "Would you boys like to try some of Willie's Special Sauce?" he asked.

Kenny started laughing, as he did every time they were asked this question.

"We'll pass, thanks," Cartman said. "Geez, grow up Kenny."

The boys had all heard the rumours about Willie's Special Sauce. Supposedly it was so hot that the last person who had been unfortunate enough to try it had ended up in hospital with third degree internal burns.

"Willie, I'm going for my break now!" the waitress, Mary, called to him.

He waved his hand in acknowledgement as he went back to the kitchen. Cartman watched him for a moment then turned back to the others, grinning.

"Do you guys wanna hear something really cool?" he asked.

"Not really," Stan said through a mouthful of pizza.

"Years ago, two seventeen year old boys came to Willie's. That same night, they went missing. This was the last place they were seen. They were never found, and you know why?" The others shook their heads. Cartman leaned in towards them and said in a voice barely above a whisper: "Because Willie killed them."

"What?" Kyle said in disbelief.

"It's true!" Cartman said. "They turned up just as Willie was closing. They were drunk and rowdy and looking for trouble. When Willie wouldn't serve them they went crazy and started trashing the place, so he grabbed his gun and fired at them to scare them off. Only problem was he accidentally shot one of them and killed him. As for the other guy – well, he didn't want any witnesses, did he?" He paused to take a bite of pizza. "He buried them in the field out back, which is now the parking lot. And you know the gun he shot them with? It's right up there."

He pointed at a Winchester rifle mounted on the wall behind the counter.

"That's stupid, Cartman," Kyle said. "Why would he keep the gun where everybody can see it?"

"That's the genius of it," Cartman said. "You hide it in plain sight because that's the last place anyone would look."

"Willie is not a killer, Cartman," Stan said. "Look at him!"

They watched Willie whistling merrily to a table of miserable looking kids. Stan realised he'd never seen Willie out of costume. To him, Willie was just a guy with an unnaturally large head who whistled gay little tunes. He'd never really thought about the guy underneath the outfit.

"Don't let the goofy costume fool you, guys," Cartman said. "Underneath that jolly exterior is a cold blooded killer." When the other three looked at him sceptically, he sighed. "Think about it. Those kids were last seen alive here. Then, about a week after they disappear, Willie suddenly decides to have the field concreted over. It all adds up!"

"Only in your sick mind," Stan said.

"It's true, Stan!" Cartman said crossly. "I know because my mom told me!"

"Whatever!" Stan said unenthusiastically. "I don't even care."

"Stan, brah, you need to get over it," Cartman said. "Wendy dumped you, so what? It's not the end of the world!"

A noise from the doorway made everybody jump. An eerie silence fell over the diner as they all turned to look. A man pushed at the heavy door, completely oblivious to the 'Pull' sign on it. When that didn't work, he tried pawing at the glass instead. All the while, he moaned in a rather pathetic way. Watching him, Stan was reminded of the creepy hobo from the previous night. He was starting to get that familiar feeling of inevitability again.

Willie appeared from the kitchen, dragging a mop and bucket behind him. He looked up, saw the man, and gave a deep sigh.

"Goddamn crack-heads," the boys heard him mutter. He went over to the door, taking the mop with him, opened it and pushed the soaking wet mop into the man's face. The man staggered backwards, his moans muffled by a mound of soap bubbles. "Get out of here! Go on!" Willie shouted. He pushed the mop towards the man again. The man turned and shuffled off down the street, clearly eager to avoid any more mop assaults.

"What the hell was that all about?" Cartman asked.

"Guys, lets just eat our pizza and get out of here," Stan said. His stomach felt like one giant knot.

The others nodded. From the looks on their faces, Stan could tell that they all felt the same way as him. The boys ate quickly, paid and left the diner, first checking that the strange man had gone before they headed out into the street.

"Do you guys wanna come back to my place?" Cartman asked.

The other three looked at each other and nodded. They had only gone a little way down the street when Stan stopped.

"Hey, isn't that Mary, the waitress?" he asked.

The other three looked where he was pointing. Mary the waitress stood in an alleyway next to the diner, just outside the kitchen. A man was with her, and they appeared to be having what looked like a major make-out session. Mary gazed up at the darkening sky, a cigarette hanging from her limp hand, as the guy gave her what appeared to be the world's biggest love-bite.

"Do you think she's all right?" Stan asked.

"Look at them! She's fine!" Cartman said. He watched them for a few seconds more and shouted: "Geez, get a room!"

The other three laughed, and then turned as they heard a familiar noise. Another guy shuffled towards them, making that same odd groaning sound.

"What's with everyone?" Kyle asked.

"Must be something going around," Stan said with a shrug. "Let's get out of here. Come on Kenny!" Kenny, who was still watching the couple with fascination, protested as Stan grabbed his arm.

The boys walked away down the street without a backward glance, which was a shame for Mary because if they had looked back, they would have seen the enormous bite wound on her neck. She slumped to the ground; her eyes still fixed on the sky, and wished that she'd been able to quit smoking. Her mom had always warned her it might kill her. It looked like she'd been right, as usual. Mary shut her eyes and smiled at the irony of it all as she began to drift away. When she opened them again, she was no longer Mary the waitress. She was something horrible.

"Ai! That was my power pack!"

"No it wasn't! You can't own power packs, Cartman!" Kyle said.

Stan sighed happily and settled back in the sofa, letting Kyle and Cartman's bickering wash over him. The earlier incidents at Willie's seemed a long way away now that he was in Cartman's warm house, stuffed full of Ms Cartman's delicious cookies and playing Call Of Duty with his friends. Stan was quite happy to put all the weirdness to the back of his mind and deal with it later. Much, much later.

The front door opened and slammed shut and a man walked into the room. He was very tall, with slicked back dark hair and he wore a dark suit with a blue tie. He was carrying a bag of groceries in each hand.

"Lianne, I'm back!" he called. He gave the boys a quick smile and took the groceries into the kitchen.

"Who's that?" Stan asked.

"My mom's boyfriend," Cartman replied, his eyes still fixed on the TV.

"What's his name?" Kyle whispered, as the guy came back into the room.

"I don't know. I think its Tim or Jeff or Simon or whatever. Doesn't matter anyway. He's not gonna be around for long." Cartman took his eyes off the screen just long enough to give them an evil smile.

They heard footsteps on the stairs and then Lianne Cartman, Eric's mum, hurried into the lounge. She kissed Tim/Jeff/Simon/Whatever on the cheek and then pulled back, looking at him with concern.

"Pete, you look terrible!" she said.

"I feel worse!" Pete said with a pained smile. He took off his long black coat and rubbed his forehead wearily. Lianne gasped and grabbed his arm.

"Oh my god, you're hurt! What happened?"

"A bunch of kids attacked me outside the grocery store," Pete said. "I thought they were going to mug me, but instead one of them bit me! Can you believe that?"

The boys exchanged glances and peered around Lianne to get a closer look at Pete's wound. The sleeve and lower arm of his crisp white shirt were covered in blood and, when Lianne carefully pulled his sleeve back, they saw a small, deep hole in his wrist which was still gushing blood. A chunk of ripped flesh hung uselessly over the wound. Stan felt bile rising up his throat and looked away, clapping a hand over his mouth.

"Maybe you should go to the hospital," Lianne said, her face pale.

"No, I'll be fine," Pete said. "Just patch me up here."

They disappeared into the kitchen. Kyle turned to the others, his eyes wide.

"Seriously, a person did that?" he said. "That is totally fucked up!"

The boys carried on playing until Pete came in from the kitchen a short while later, a long white bandage wrapped tightly around his wrist. Somehow he looked a lot worse than before. His face was chalk white and he was sweating.

"I think you should take tomorrow off," Lianne said anxiously.

"I can't! You know I've got that presentation tomorrow. It could make or break the company! I have to go." He smiled and kissed her forehead. "I'll be fine. All I need is an early night."

Lianne smiled seductively. "Oh, all right then."

"I've got a splitting headache," Pete said, rubbing his forehead.

Lianne looked disappointed. "Oh." She disappeared back into the kitchen and they heard the rustle of grocery bags and the sound of cupboards being opened and shut with some force.

"Eric, could you turn the TV down please?" Pete asked. His eyes were shut now, and even talking looked like an effort.

Cartman smiled sweetly and turned the volume up a couple of notches.

"I said turn it down, Eric!"

"Oh, sorry! My bad." He turned the volume up again.

Pete took a breath and ran both hands through his dark hair. He looked like a man near breaking point.

"I'm sorry, did you say up or down?" Cartman asked, a wicked grin on his face.

Pete leant into Cartman until their faces were inches apart. "Now you listen to me, you little fucking prick!" he hissed, his voice low and menacing, "I've put up with your fucking crap ever since I got together with your mom but I am not fucking taking it any more, do you fucking hear me! You're gonna start fucking behaving yourself or I fucking swear to God, I am gonna make it my personal fucking mission to make your fucking life a living fucking hell until you fucking turn fucking eighteen! Understand?"

Cartman nodded. His eyes were wide and his mouth was a small 'o' of shock. Pete heaved a deep sigh of relief, as though a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and left the room. The boys sat in stunned silence until they heard him going upstairs.

"Mo-oom! Pete was mean to me!" Cartman called into the kitchen.

"That's nice, hon!"

"Maybe we better go," Kyle said uneasily.

"No! We haven't finished the game yet!" Cartman said.

"He sounded pretty serious, Cartman," Stan said.

"Don't worry about him, you guys," Cartman said. The evil smile returned. "I'm gonna take care of him."

The other three looked at each other.

"You're gonna tell the cops he molestered you, aren't you," Kyle said. "How many of your mom's boyfriends have you put in prison now?"

Cartman scratched one of his chins thoughtfully. "Forty-two, at the last count."

"Aren't you worried that the cops might start getting suspicious about the amount of guys molestering you?"

"Nah. The cops are too dumb to start thinking like that."

Stan thought about the Park County police force and privately conceded that Cartman might have a point.

Kyle sighed. "See ya tomorrow, fatass."

When Stan got home, he found his parents, Randy and Sharon, sitting on the sofa watching TV. Well, Sharon was. Randy was asleep, snoring loudly. His head was leaning against the back of the couch and his mouth was hanging open in a very unattractive way. Several empty beer bottles lay scattered around his feet. Stan glared at him and ran upstairs, shouting hey to Sharon as he went. As he crossed to his room, the sound of Randy's snores was drowned out by the thump of music from his sister Shelly's bedroom. Stan reached his room and shut the door behind him, sighing with relief.

His bedroom was his sanctuary from the world and right now, Stan felt like he needed one. He walked over to the bed and sat down next to his dog, Sparky, who was lying at the bottom. The dog licked his hand and he ruffled his head.

"Worst day ever, Sparks," he said.

He went over to a chest of drawers and pulled open the bottom one. After a few seconds of rummaging, he found what he was looking for. He shut the drawer and looked at the bottle of whisky thoughtfully then sighed and unscrewed the cap. The bottle was halfway to his lips when he caught sight of himself in a mirror hanging above the chest of drawers.

He stared at his reflection and moved the bottle away from his mouth. It was the first time he'd looked at himself properly for months, and he didn't like what he saw. The boy looking back at him was pale faced and had dark rings round his blue eyes, which looked dull and lifeless. Stan glanced at the bottle of whiskey and remembered Randy, passed out on the sofa downstairs. He was struck by a chilling thought. Oh Jesus_._ He was turning into his dad. The only real difference between them right now was thirty years and a moustache. Geez, no wonder Wendy had broken up with him.

Stan backed away from the mirror and sat down on the bed, reeling from the revelation. Then his mouth hardened into a thin, determined line and he screwed the cap back on the whisky bottle.

"I don't wanna do this any more," he said aloud. He began stroking Sparky almost absentmindedly, glaring at his reflection. "Look at you. I'm sick of you. I've been you for ten years and where's it got me? No-fucking-where, that's where." Stan took a deep breath. He felt better now that he was saying it aloud. "Things have got to change, Sparky. I can't go on like this. I have to show everyone that I'm not a loser!"

Sparky gave him a look that seemed to say: 'good luck with that'.

Stan frowned, considering his decision. It would mean a lot of changes. It would mean no more involvement in the weirdness that had become the town's trademark. It would mean – he shuddered – working hard at school. It would mean becoming as boring as Craig Tucker. But if all that meant that he could win Wendy back, then they were changes he was willing to make.

But where to start? Stan thought for a moment and then smiled. Of course. He'd almost forgotten about tomorrow's history test, which for once had nothing to do with American soaps from the Eighties. This was where Stan admired Cartman, who was a master of the last minute test cram and managed to pass nearly all of the tests Garrison gave them, despite not really studying for them.

He got a pen and some paper out of his bag, sat down at his desk and switched his computer on. As he waited for it to warm up, his thoughts turned to the 'crack-head' at Willie's, and the tramp from the previous night.

"No way dude," he muttered to himself. "I am not getting involved."

Sparky looked at him and yawned.

Stan pushed all unwelcome thoughts and distractions out of his mind and tried to concentrate. He was going to pass this test, even if he had to study all night.

Tomorrow the world was going to see a brand new Stan Marsh.

**Chapter 4 up soon…**


	4. Chapter 4

**Stan Of The Dead**

**Thanks to everyone who's read/reviewed/followed this story so far. We're getting to the major zombie stuff soon, promise!**

**I don't own South Park or SOTD.**

**Chapter 4**

"Eric! Time to get up, poopsie!"

Eric Cartman rolled over and forced his eyes open. Lianne stood in his bedroom doorway, smiling at him.

"What are you talking about mom? It's only…_eight fifteen_! Fuck!"

"Watch your language, sweetie!"

"Fuck off, mom."

Cartman sat up, fully awake now, and glared at his Wellington Bear alarm clock. It should have woken him up an hour earlier so that he could cram for Mr Garrison's stupid history test before school. Stupid piece of Taiwanese crap.

Normally Cartman didn't care whether he passed or failed Garrison's tests, but the teacher had clearly been in a pissy mood when he set this one because he'd warned them that anyone who failed it would get detention. Cartman hated detention even more than he hated tests, so it was a no brainer to at least try and prepare for it. Now however, he had to catch the bus in fifteen minutes, or else he'd be late for school and get detention anyway.

Plan A had failed, so now it was time for Plan B.

He got out of bed and began to stretch his legs, concentrating on his calves and then moving on to his thighs. He did a few lunges, just like he'd seen on his mom's exercise DVDs. Finally, he was ready.

He waited until he heard Lianne coming back upstairs, and then he began to jog on the spot. He kept this up for about a minute, when his face went red and he started to sweat. His body protested at this enforced exercise and his legs filled with lactic acid, but he pushed on. After a minute and a half, he felt light-headed and queasy, and his pyjama top was covered in sweat patches. After one minute and forty five seconds, he hit the wall. His stomach began to churn and he felt sick. He clapped a hand over his mouth and lurched to the door on wobbly legs. He made it to the bathroom just as Lianne appeared from her bedroom.

"Eric! Are you all right?"

Cartman kicked the door shut behind him, dropped to his knees in front of the toilet and spewed his guts up.

Lianne knocked on the door. "Eric? Are you all right in there, poopsie?"

"Go 'way, mom!"

Cartman flushed the toilet and went to the sink to look at himself in the mirror. Normal colour was beginning to return to his pale face and the nausea had gone. He wiped his watering eyes and swore under his breath. His mom was a dumb bitch, but he still had to make this credible if he was going to convince her that he really was ill.

He picked up a washcloth from the sink and turned on the hot tap, letting the water run until it steamed, and then held the washcloth under it. He turned the tap off and held the hot washcloth to his face and neck, wincing as it touched his skin. He looked at himself in the mirror. His face was reddening nicely and he was sweating again. He smiled to himself, took a deep breath and put on his most pathetic expression. _Perfect_. Lianne was waiting for him when he emerged from the bathroom.

"Eric? What's the matter sweetie?"

Cartman looked up at her, his big brown eyes welling with tears. "I don't feel very well, mom-mee."

Lianne put her hand on his forehead. "Oh my, you're burning up. You go straight back to bed, poopiekins."

Inside, Cartman rejoiced. "But what about school?" he asked, making sure to keep his face neutral.

"There's no way you can go to school, hon. I'll call and tell them right away."

"Will you come and read me a story, mommy?"

"I'd love to hon but I haven't got time," Lianne said. "I have to go to that meeting at the community centre this morning. It's about the situation in North Park and they say the whole town will be there. I can't miss it."

"What situation?"

"Oh, I'm sure it's nothing serious," Lianne said.

"Is Pete going with you?" Cartman asked hopefully.

"No, he's staying here with you. He's still not feeling very well." As she spoke, Pete emerged from the bedroom. He walked straight past them, barely seeming to notice they were there.

"You two can be ill together! Won't that be fun!"

Cartman watched the almost catatonic Pete go into the bathroom. "Yeah, great," he muttered.

"You go back to bed," Lianne said, ushering him towards his bedroom. "I'll come up and say goodbye after I've called the school."

Cartman had only just got himself settled back into bed when Lianne came into his bedroom.

"I've called the school, and they say that's fine," she said. She checked her watch. "Ooh, I really have to go. My cellphone will be on, so call if you need anything. Bye hon!"

Cartman stayed in bed until he heard her car pull off the drive, then he got up and dressed. He paused and scowled as he heard the sound of the shower being turned on in the bathroom. His hatred for Pete had grown even more intense, especially after last night. Now if only he could figure out a way to get rid of him, today would be perfect.

Cartman wasn't the only one who had overslept that morning. Stan had too, but that was only because he'd been up half the night revising for today's history test. He'd fallen asleep at his desk and hadn't bothered to set his alarm and, because his parents had left early in order to get good seats at the town meeting, it had been left to Shelly to wake him up. Being the evil cow that she was, she'd waited until she was about to leave to catch the bus before she did it, so that was why he was now walking along South Park's quiet streets to school, feeling tired and disoriented. So much for the brand new Stan.

What was even worse was that he had forgotten everything he'd learnt during last night's cram session. It felt like someone had reached inside his head during the night and squeezed his brain like a sponge until all the knowledge dribbled out. He turned on to Main Street and scowled. Why did they have to learn about the Civil War anyway? It had happened, like, a gazillion years ago and was hardly relevant to his life today. Still, he had to try and remember something, or get detention. So, the Union had won – or wait, was it the other guys? Shit. Stan stopped, his face scrunched up with concentration as he tried to remember. His stomach grumbled reminding him that, thanks to Shelly, he'd had to skip breakfast. A sugar hit would definitely help his recall.

Luckily he'd come to a stop outside Ajay's grocery store, so he went inside. The small shop seemed to be deserted. There was no sign of anyone, not even Ajay, the owner. The place was a mess, too. The floor was littered with packets of food and bottles of drink and other items. Whole shelving units had been overturned. Stan made his way through the mess to a drinks chiller at the back of the shop. He was so out of it that he barely noticed what had happened around him. As far as he was concerned, all this could have been taking place in another universe.

He opened the chiller door – oblivious to the bloody handprint streaked across the glass – and got a can of Coke. He considered it for a second, then changed his mind and got a can of Diet Coke instead. He took it to the counter at the front of the shop, where there was still no sign of Ajay.

"Ajay? Are you there? I wanna buy something!" Stan shouted. He winced. Even the sound of his voice hurt his head.

He drummed his fingers on the counter, wondering what to do. Most people would have just taken the drink and run but Stan was an honest person and anyway, he liked Ajay, who was a jolly Indian man with a toothy grin who spoke very broken English. He rifled around in his various pockets and counted the small amount of change he discovered – and found he was 15 cents short. He swore under his breath. He wanted to pay Ajay, but he didn't have time to hang around, either. After a moment's thought, he grabbed a notepad and pen lying next to the till and wrote an I.O.U note. He put the notepad back and, still feeling slightly guilty, left the shop.

He opened the can as he continued his walk down Main Street and took a few swigs. Finally, the fog in his head began to clear and Stan began to feel more like himself again. He paused and looked back at Ajay's shop? Had all that really happened in there, or had he just imagined it? He shook his head and carried on walking, remembering the promise he'd made the night before: _don't get involved. _

Unfortunately, now that his stupid brain had finally woken up it was gleefully pointing out everything that he was trying so hard to ignore. Like that car over there, the red one that had crashed into the lamp-post. Was that blood splattered across the windscreen? Stan swallowed and looked away. _Don't get involved, don't get involved._

Cars had been left all over the street, some of them parked at odd angles, or just left in the middle of the road. The doors were left open on a few, as though people had abandoned them in a hurry. Stan edged around one car that was almost blocking the path and came across his next unpleasant discovery. A small pink backpack, that could only have belonged to an elementary school kid, lay at the edge of the pavement. It was open, and its contents – a few books, a bottle of drink and a chocolate bar – spilled out into the road and…oh god, did _that_ have blood on it too?

Stan stopped and sighed. It was happening, wasn't it? The town was in crisis and he was the only one around to investigate. He could almost feel the weight of expectation in the air around him.

He looked at the sky. "Look, I know how this works – I've done it enough times – but this is not my problem. I am not getting involved."

He spoke the last sentence very slowly and clearly, making a point to God, or the crab people, or whoever controlled what happened in this weird-ass town, that Stan Marsh was no longer going to be pushed around. Somehow though he had a feeling that it would come back to bite him on the ass.

He started walking again. He had almost reached the end of Main Street when he first heard the noise. It was a dull thud, followed by a loud clattering sound, as though someone had knocked something big over. It came from behind him. Stan paused and swallowed hard, but was unable to stop a small whimper escaping from his throat. He began to walk a little quicker. By the time he reached the end of the street, he was running.

Behind him, Mary watched him go and then, slowly, began to follow.

**Chapter 5 up soon…**


	5. Chapter 5

**Stan Of the Dead**

**Okay, so I know this is called **_**Stan**_** Of The Dead, but this chapter is purely about, um, Cartman. But there's some zombie action too, so it balances out, right?**

**I own neither South Park nor SOTD.**

**Chapter 5**

Cartman was not happy. He was downstairs, sitting on the sofa, and he was hungry. He was about to call his mum until he remembered that she wasn't there, and so he sat and fumed in silence until his hunger became too much to bear. Okay so his mum wasn't here, but Pete was and anyway, Cartman was desperate.

He stomped upstairs to the bathroom and knocked on the door.

"Hey asshole! I want some breakfast!"

No reply, just the sound of the shower running. Cartman waited a moment to see if he would get a response, but there was nothing. He tried again.

"You're not even really sick, are you? You're just a faker! Well guess what, I'm gonna tell my mom unless you get out here right now and make me some goddamn breakfast!" He waited. Still nothing. "Okay, if that's the way you want it, faky faker!"

Cartman went back downstairs, but stopped at the bottom to lean against the wall as dizziness overcame him. He'd never been so long without food and what with this morning's unwanted exercise as well, his body didn't know what had hit it. He had to eat _now_.

He went into the kitchen and got a bowl out of a cupboard. He was hunting for cereal when a thought struck him. He was on his own; he could have anything he wanted. _Like ice cream_. He exchanged the cereal bowl for a bigger one, got a large tub of ice cream out of the freezer and helped himself to three big scoops. He added some sprinkles and a spoon and then took his breakfast through to the living room, where he flopped down on the sofa with a happy sigh. He grabbed the remote and flicked the TV on.

South Park News was on, and the blond newsreader Tom (why are they always called Tom? Cartman wondered) was giving a brief summary of the situation in North Park.

"…I can confirm that the radiation leak has been stopped, but the Army will be keeping the town quarantined for the near future." Cartman yawned and was about to change channel when Tom's next sentence caught his attention. "I believe we have an update on our earlier report about the alleged zombie attacks in Middle Park, so we're going straight to our reporter at the scene, a Chinese transvestite goatherd."

The picture cut to a middle aged Chinese man standing on a small hill. He was wearing a leather mini-skirt, black fishnet tights, black leather knee high boots and a pink boob tube, which showed off his chest hair. He had on a long black wig and garish make-up, and held a shepherding crook in one hand and a microphone in the other.

"Thanks Tom!" said the transvestite. "I'm here outside Middle Park where I can exclusively confirm that the attacks in Middle Park were indeed carried out by zombies. As you can see behind me," the camera zoomed in on the town over his shoulder, showing three green Army trucks driving slowly into its' Main Street, "the Army are moving in to deal with the crisis here, but there is speculation that the zombie problem, which we believe originated in North Park after the radiation leak occurred, could already have spread as far as South Park." The camera panned back to the reporter. "Joining me now to discuss this latest catastrophe is Professor Ronald Johnson, one of the Government's top scientific brains."

A short balding grey haired man wearing a lab coat shuffled nervously into view, looking like a man who'd drawn the short straw.

"Good morning, Professor." Before the man had time to return the greeting, the reporter went on: "Very briefly, Professor Johnson, explain to us how you think this problem has occurred."

"Well, we think that this is a virus caused by exposure to the radiation leak, which is then passed from person to person by oral contact. Biting, in other words."

The reporter nodded. "Uh-huh. And how long does it take for this virus to turn people?"

The Professor shrugged. "It depends on the seriousness of the bite wound. In some cases, it could take up to twelve hours for the virus to fully take effect."

"And there is no cure, is that correct?"

Johnson looked uneasy. "Not at the moment, no. B-but we're working on it!" he added quickly.

"What should people do if they encounter one of these 'zombies'?" The reporter made quotation marks with his fingers.

"Run like fuck!" Cartman suggested.

"We suggest people try and isolate them as quickly as possible and then call the emergency services," Johnson said. "But if that isn't possible then the best way to stop a zombie is a hard blow to the head."

"And what should they do if someone they know, or indeed, they themselves have been bitten?"

At that question, an unwelcome memory surfaced in Cartman's mind.

"_A bunch of kids attacked me outside the grocery store! I thought they were going to mug me, but instead one of them bit me! Can you believe that?"_

The spoon, which had been halfway to his mouth, stopped in midair. He looked up at the ceiling, the colour draining from his fat face. "Pete?" he said quietly.

He looked back at the TV. The report had ended and they'd handed back to Tom in the studio. He looked down the camera, grim faced.

"Remember, aim for the head," he said, right before the programme went to commercials.

Cartman put his half eaten bowl of ice cream down on the coffee table and sat back, trying to think. Of course, this could all be a big mistake. Pete might not be a zombie. Sure, he'd been bitten, but that didn't mean he'd been bitten by zombies. It could just have been a bunch of crazy, drugged-up kids – but there was only one way to find out for sure. Cartman swallowed hard. He was going to have to go and see Pete for himself. If the guy tried to bite him, then he definitely a zombie, if he didn't, then he was still stupid Pete the dickhole.

He got up and went slowly upstairs. It was only when he got to the top that he realised he hadn't thought about a weapon. He swore under his breath, but kept going. If he went back now, he might lose his nerve altogether. He hesitated outside the bathroom door for a moment and then knocked. Again, there was no response from inside. He tried the door handle. To his dismay, the door was unlocked. He pushed the door open with his fist, getting ready to run.

At first he couldn't see anything because the bathroom was so full of steam but gradually it began to clear and he peered in towards the shower. Pete was in there, standing perfectly still, staring at one of the blue tiled walls. Cartman padded silently across the floor, watching him closely, wary of any sudden movements. As he approached the shower, Pete turned towards him and Cartman was treated to a full-frontal view of his mum's boyfriend. He wasn't sure, but he thought there were laws against that kind of thing.

Pete and Cartman stared at each other. Cartman found himself almost hoping that Pete was a zombie because if he wasn't then this was a whole new level of weird. Zombie or no zombie, though, he was using all their water. Cartman pulled back the shower screen slightly and reached in. He flinched when the water – which was freezing cold – hit his arm, but Pete wasn't even shivering. His eyes followed Cartman's arm intently, like a cat watching a mouse. Cartman switched the shower off, and, as he was pulling his arm out, Pete struck. He snapped at Cartman's retreating hand, his teeth missing it by millimetres. Cartman screamed and ran out of the bathroom. Behind him, he heard Pete begin to moan, and then some bangs as the zombie struggled to get out of the shower.

Cartman ran downstairs into the kitchen. He pulled his mobile phone out of a pocket in his jeans, almost dropping it as it slid through his wet hand, and called his mum. As he waited for her to pick up he ransacked the kitchen, looking for a suitable weapon.

Finally, she answered.

"Mom, you need to come and get me right now!"

"Why? Is there a problem?"

"Yes there's a goddamn problem! You know your asshole boyfriend, Pete? He's a fucking zombie!"

"Now Eric, I know Pete can be a little dull but – "

"No mom! I mean he's an actual fucking zombie! He tried to bite me!" There was some more banging and groaning from upstairs. "Mom, I'm seriously…"

"Eric, sweetpea, I don't have time for this. The meeting's about to start."

"But mom – "

"No Eric." Lianne's voice was soft but firm and Cartman stopped. She didn't assert herself very often and it took him by surprise when she did. "It'll do you both good to spend some time together. Now I really have to go."

"No mom, don't you fucking hang up on me…goddamit!"

Cartman was about to throw his phone at the wall when he remembered how expensive it was and lowered his hand. He stood still, shaking with a mixture of fear and fury. He took a few deep breaths and waited for the red mist to lift. He needed to think, and he couldn't do that in a blind rage. Feeling a little more calm and collected, he looked at the thing he held in his right hand. The only suitable weapon he'd been able to find in the whole kitchen was a rolling pin. He swore. Why couldn't his stupid bitch of a mom let him have a gun like he'd wanted? He could feel himself getting angry again, so he went through to the lounge.

The TV was still on. Tom appeared to have some breaking news so he stopped to watch.

"Uh, this is just in," Tom said, looking at a piece of paper someone had just given him. "In order to prevent the virus spreading further, police in Boulder have closed the highway that runs between their town and South Park. They are warning that anyone coming down from South Park will be turned away."

"No! Are you fucking retarded? Why would you do that?" Cartman shouted at the TV.

This was typical of the Government, he thought. Protect the townies and leave the red-necks to fend for themselves. He was pretty sure that 'turned away' actually meant 'shot on sight'.

Cartman turned the TV off and threw the remote on the sofa. He stood listening to Pete's mournful moaning, and shuddered. He had to get out of here, but where to go? As he thought about it, the answer became obvious. The community centre! His mom hadn't believed him when he'd spoken to her on the phone, so obviously there weren't any zombies there. If he snuck out now perhaps he could avoid them. It was a faint hope, but it was the only one he had.

He tiptoed into the hallway, took the garage door opener from a bowl on a table and opened the front door slightly. Peeping round the door he looked up and down the street. It was all clear to the left but to the right he heard moaning and a group of four zombies shuffled into view. Cartman shut the door again and whimpered. He didn't want to go out there, but the only alternative was to take his chances in the house with Naked Pete.

Just as he'd thought that, Pete appeared at the top of the stairs. He was dripping wet and his whole body had gone deathly white. He looked at Cartman and gave a long low moan.

That made Cartman's mind up. Stifling a scream, he ran quickly out of the house and leaned against the wall outside. The group of zombies hadn't yet seen him, so he moved slowly along the front of the house, keeping his back pressed tightly against it as though he was trying to disappear into the bricks. When he reached the corner of the house he switched on the garage door opener.

The door began to open outwards, making a whirring noise as it moved. The zombies' heads snapped round. He ran to the garage as they shuffled at him, willing the door to move faster. As soon as it was high enough, Cartman ducked underneath. For a few seconds, nothing happened, then, as the garage door opened fully, a small fat red and blue blur shot out of the garage, scattering the approaching zombies like bowling pins.

Cartman glanced behind him and grinned madly as he pedalled his trike to the end of the drive. This was no ordinary trike, of course. It was his Coon Trike, the one he always rode when he was out at night saving people as the superhero, The Coon. He felt a little self-conscious about riding it in daylight without the costume, but right now that was the least of his problems. Besides, the costume was in the laundry.

He turned around in time to see a boy, a fifth grader he recognised from school, making a grab for him. He swerved to avoid the dead clasping hands and for a few terrifying seconds, he was on two wheels. The trike crashed down again and bounced off the kerb and into the road. Cartman dragged his heels along the road, trying to slow the trike down and avoid being thrown over the handlebars, and eventually it came to a stop. He took a deep breath and looked up. He was facing the wrong direction now, and there were more zombies coming towards him. They were _everywhere_. At least twenty poured up the street like cockroaches, all moaning in that awful way. Cartman looked around. The group near the garage were back on their feet and were joining the main group in their slow advance. Cartman looked down at the rolling pin he still held, then back up at the zombies, trying to work out which one was the nearest.

The closest one seemed to be Mr Barkley, the Cartmans' neighbour from across the street. Mr Barkley was a skinny middle aged man with thick grey hair and a bushy grey beard. He wore a pair of light blue pyjamas that hung off his bony frame. Cartman weighed the rolling pin in his hand, took aim and threw it as hard as he could at his neighbour.

The weapon hit him hard in the stomach and the zombie crumpled into a heap on the ground. The others were on top of him in seconds but Cartman didn't wait to see what would happen. He turned the trike around and began to pedal as fast as he could to the end of the street. When he reached the end of it, he stopped, suddenly caught in indecision.

Cartman's street led out on to one of South Park's few main roads. Turning left would take him towards the community centre, but it was at least three blocks away. That was bad enough, but now he could hear quite clearly the moans of more zombies in the distance. He was weapon-less now, too. If he encountered another large pack, he was dead. Or worse, undead. He drummed his fingers on the handlebars, thinking. There had to be somewhere closer.

He looked to the right, frowning. He couldn't hear any moaning coming from that way, but there was nothing down that end of the road apart from the elementary school. _The elementary school. _Okay so it wasn't the safest place, but it was crowded and more people meant more potential victims for the Undead Army to feast on, especially if Cartman had anything to do with it. While they were gorging themselves, he could slip quietly away…

A noise behind him made him turn. The pack of zombies had finished with Mr Barkley and were moving towards him. It was decision time. He pedalled out into the middle of the road, paused for a second, then turned right and began pedalling towards South Park Elementary School.

**Chapter 6 up soon…**


	6. Chapter 6

**Stan Of The Dead**

**Hope you're enjoying the story so far. This is where the real zombie action starts!**

**I don't own South Park, or Shaun Of The Dead.**

**Chapter 6**

The bell rang through South Park Elementary School, startling the students – and some of the teachers – out of their torpor. The school was suddenly a buzzing hive of activity as the students moved between classrooms or, in the case of the fourth graders, headed out to the playground for recess.

The first lesson had been eventful. Mr Garrison was at the town meeting along with Mr Mackey and Principal Victoria, so Mr Stanislavski, the drama teacher, was filling in for him. The lesson began in disarray because Garrison hadn't left a lesson plan and from there things got steadily worse. Mr Stanislavski was more used to dealing with well behaved drama students than a bunch of noisy fourth graders and the kids sensed weakness immediately. After an hour of insults, mockery and practical jokes the usually cheery Mr Stanislavski was a broken man. As the class left for recess, he sat behind his desk whimpering.

"There's no way he's gonna give us that history test now," Clyde Donovan said triumphantly as the boys walked down the hallway.

There was a chorus of agreement. As the group passed their lockers Stan stopped, the smile fading a little from his face. Wendy was at her locker, putting some stuff away. As usual, Bebe and Red were with her. Stan braced himself to go over and speak to her, then got annoyed. Why should he be nervous about talking to her? He was New Stan now, after all. New Stan could talk to anyone, even his disgruntled ex.

"Stan? Are you coming?" Kyle said. "We're gonna go play football." He hooked a thumb towards the rest of the boys, who were heading outside.

"Yeah. I'll be out in a sec."

Kyle glanced at Stan, and then at Wendy. He rolled his eyes. "Okay."

Stan took a deep breath and approached the girls. "Hey Wendy."

All three ignored him.

"So, uh, did you study for that history test last night? Stupid question. Of course you did! I did too. I think it's a shame that we're not going to do it now because I know I'd totally ace it!" He paused. He couldn't see what impression this had made because Wendy had her back to him, so he ploughed on. "What do you think about Stanislavski? I don't think he's gonna last the day. Clyde and Craig have got a bet with some of the others that they can make him cry before lunch."

"What do you want, loser?" Red asked, irritated.

"I just want to talk to Wendy, that's all," Stan said, trying to keep his temper.

"Well she doesn't want to talk to you."

"Really? I didn't hear her say that."

"Just get lost!" Red shouted at him.

Wendy slammed her locker door with such force that it made them all jump. "Can we just go out for recess already?"

She glared at her friends, but her expression softened slightly when she looked at Stan. The three girls headed off down the corridor, Bebe and Red flanking her on either side. Stan grinned and hurried after them.

"I've changed, Wendy," Stan said, falling into step beside Red. "You were right about me; I was just screwing around, not thinking about the future. So last night I made a few decisions. From now on I'm gonna study real hard and…and I'm gonna get back on the football team. I might even try out for the track team. I'm going to prove to you that I'm not a loser!"

Red snorted. "It's all words, Stan."

"No it isn't, Red!" Stan said angrily. "And I can prove it too! This morning something really weird was going on in Main Street but I ignored it. I could've stopped to investigate but instead I came straight to school."

"What do you want, a medal?" Bebe sneered.

Stan sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Whatever. I'm sick of this. I'm going out to play football. Wendy, if you wanna talk, you know where I am."

Stan strode outside, leaving Wendy staring miserably at the floor. He couldn't believe things had got this bad between them. Why was she letting her friends walk all over her? It wasn't like Wendy at all. He shook his head free of these thoughts. He didn't want to think about her right now, he just wanted to play football.

The boys were standing in a large group at the far end of the playground, with their backs to the school. Stan joined them, clapping his hands to keep them warm. The temperature had plummeted since he'd arrived at school.

"Are we playing or what?" Stan asked.

Nobody answered him. They were all staring at something at the edge of the playground.

"Guys?"

"Check it out. Isn't that the waitress from Willie's?" Token Black asked.

Stan looked. A dishevelled woman stood near the wall, hunched over, her arms hanging limply by her sides. Her long, dirty blond hair hung over her face, almost obscuring it. She was dressed only in the Whistlin' Willie's uniform – a pair of blue dungarees over a red T-shirt – despite the freezing temperature. She was completely still, watching them as keenly as they watched her.

"What's she doing here?" Stan asked.

"I don't know. She was just standing there when we came out," Token said. "I think she's drunk or something."

"Should we get a teacher?" Butters Stotch asked.

"Nah. When are they ever any use?" Kyle said.

"Someone should go check if she's all right, though," Token said.

There was a long moment of silence as all the boys stood still, waiting for someone to volunteer. Stan sighed as, inevitably, all eyes turned to him. "I'll go, shall I?" he asked sarcastically.

He took a deep breath and approached the woman slowly. "Hey, uh…" he looked at the name badge hanging loosely from her T-shirt, "…Mary. How are you doing? Are you okay?"

Mary didn't answer. Instead she began to moan slowly. Stan stopped, alarmed, and then began to back away towards the safety of the group. Mary followed him, her arms outstretched, reaching for him.

"Hey Stan, I think she likes you!" Token said jokily.

"This isn't funny, Token!" Stan said.

The boys scattered as Stan and Mary approached. Some of them began to feel a little anxious. Whatever this woman was doing, it wasn't normal.

"Leave me alone!" Stan said to her.

Mary continued to advance on him, her moans getting louder with every step. Stan stopped.

"I said leave me alone, you freak!" he said. He moved forward as he spoke and pushed her away from him. She staggered backwards, her arms flailing and the moans became noises of surprise.

There had once been a tetherball set in the middle of the playground until it had got broken during one particularly competitive game, now all that was left was a short, sharp metal pole that was screwed into the ground. Because no-one at South Park Elementary had a sense of health and safety this hadn't been cordoned off. This was what Mary was staggering towards.

Stan saw in his mind's eye what was going to happen, even before her heel clipped one of the large screws. Just as he'd predicted, she fell back on to the pole, which pierced her stomach. There was a splattering sound and flecks of blood sprayed over some unfortunate kids who were standing too close. Mary's arms and legs twitched a few times and then she became still.

Stan stood frozen, unable to take his eyes off the horror. The pole had punctured her abdomen and stuck up out of her stomach, covered in blood and innards. She lay still, her eyes shut, her arms and legs splayed out either side. She looked like a gruesome artwork.

For once, the playground was eerily silent. No-one moved, everyone stared at Mary. Then, one by one, their eyes turned to Stan.

"She was coming right at me! You all saw that, right guys?" Stan said. His voice was small and afraid. "Guys?"

He looked at the boys for help, but they all avoided his gaze. Only Butters Stotch left the group and went up to him.

"Don't worry Stan. My dad says jail's not that bad," he said, patting Stan's shoulder.

"Jail!" Stan said, alarmed. "I'm not going to jail! It was an accident! I didn't know she was gonna fall on that thing!"

"Jesus Christ Stan," Kyle breathed.

Just then, Cartman stumbled around the side of the school into the playground. He took a quick look around, spotted Stan and the others, and staggered over to them, the silent crowd of kids parting to let him through.

"Cartman? What are you doing here?" Kyle asked. "I thought you were at home pretending to be sick."

Cartman dropped to his knees next to Stan. He was sweating profusely despite the cold weather and panting so hard that he couldn't speak.

"Z…Z…Z…" he spluttered.

"What is it, Cartman?" Kyle asked impatiently.

Cartman looked up and his eyes widened. He began pointing frantically at something behind Stan. "Zom…zom…zom…"

"Oh my god, look!" someone shouted.

Stan turned. To his horror, Mary was moving. Her body jerked up and down and her arms and legs scrabbled for purchase in the snow. The children watched, shocked. _Oh my god, she's trying to get up,_ Stan thought. Slowly, Mary pulled herself upright. There was a slimy, squelching sound as she dragged herself off the pole and stood up. The kids stared. There was a big gaping hole where her stomach should have been. They could see right through it to the wall at the far end of the playground.

Cartman dragged himself to his feet. "Zombie!" he shouted at last.

Cartman's voice seemed to break the spell. Screams and shouts filled the air as Mary began to move towards the crowd.

"Everybody, back inside NOW!" Stan shouted, as loudly as he could over the rising swell of panic.

The kids charged back towards the school, some of them falling over each other in their efforts to get away.

"Look, there's another one!" Butters shouted.

Stan looked. Sure enough, another zombie was coming around the side of the school. This one was a fat balding man in a smart grey suit. He turned towards them and began to advance on them. Behind them, Mary followed. The fourth graders were almost safely inside when Kyle, who was running beside Stan, suddenly stopped.

"Kyle, what are you doing?" Stan shouted. "Come on!"

"Dude, we can't let them get inside the school!" Kyle said. His eyes were wide with fear. "The kindergarten's just down the hall. Ike's in there! If I let anything happen to him, my mom will kill me!"

"What are we supposed to do?"

"I've got an idea! Come on!" Kyle broke off from the pack and ran off in the opposite direction, back towards the bottom end of the playground. Reluctantly, Stan followed.

Tucked away in the corner of the playground were two dilapidated sheds: one contained all the sports equipment that was used in gym lessons, while the other was the groundskeeper's shed. Stan burst into the sports equipment shed. The shelves were piled high with football helmets, while the floor was covered with bags of balls: footballs, soccer balls and baseballs. Over on one side, next to a grimy window, a metal rack was fixed to the wood. Hanging neatly in the rack was a row of baseball bats. Stan grabbed a bat and headed back outside.

"Kyle?"

Kyle came out of the groundskeeper's shed, holding a shovel. Peering in behind him, Stan could see the groundskeeper himself – a burly middle aged man with thinning brown hair and a deeply lined face – sitting propped up against a couple of bags of grass seed. He was fast asleep, clutching a half empty whisky bottle to his chest. Stan had a sudden urge to grab the bottle and take a few swigs himself.

"You ready?" Kyle asked.

Stan forcibly turned his back on the snoring groundskeeper.

"Yeah," he said. He smiled grimly at Kyle. "Let's go kill some zombies."

**Chapter 7 up soon…**


	7. Chapter 7

**Stan Of The Dead**

**Yes I know, it's been a while since my last update, but I've been having computer problems and I've had to completely re-write this whole chapter. Anyway, finally here is chapter 7. Hope you enjoy it.**

**I don't own South Park.**

**Chapter 7**

Stan and Kyle ran back towards the school, brandishing their weapons. The rush to get back into the school had caused a bottleneck and some kids had become wedged in the doorway. The fourth graders were at the back of the crowd, pushing hopelessly against the crush. The two zombies were grabbing at kids in the crowd, causing them to bunch together even more tightly.

"I'll take Mary, you take the fat guy!" Stan shouted at Kyle.

Kyle looked horrified. "What? Why can't I take Mary?"

Stan opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by a scream. He whirled round. To his horror, Mary had got hold of Wendy's arm and was trying to pull her out of the crowd. Bebe had grabbed her other arm and was attempting to drag her to safety. Stan ran towards them, raised the baseball bat and swung it as hard as he could at Mary. It hit her in the side, knocking her off balance and forcing her to let go of Wendy.

She looked at Stan, her eyes filling with tears. "Thanks," she whispered.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

Wendy nodded, tears spilling down her cheeks. They gazed at each other for a moment and Stan felt the familiar feeling of nausea building up inside him. He clamped a hand over his mouth, which made Wendy smile despite the tears. The spell was broken by another cry, this time from the other side of the crowd. Stan recognised the voice instantly.

He turned. The fat zombie was, quite naturally, going after the school's fattest kid, Cartman, who reeled in horror as it grabbed at him. He pushed back into the crowd, flattening a few smaller kids in the process. Kyle was hitting the zombie with his shovel, but the blows bounced harmlessly off the man's huge back.

"You've gotta go for his head, douche-bag!" Cartman shouted at him.

"Kyle, work the legs!" Stan called.

Kyle, panting heavily, turned his attention to the man's legs, peppering his thick calves with blows.

"Stan!" Wendy shouted.

Stan turned to find that Mary had dragged a small boy out of the crowd and was trying to sink her teeth into his neck. The boy screamed and kicked wildly at her. Stan ran over and slammed the bat into Mary's right leg. She staggered, but stayed upright. Stan hit her again, and again. Mary's leg gave way underneath her and she collapsed, moaning pitifully. The boy broke free of her loosening grip and disappeared gratefully back amongst the crowd. Stan stood over the zombie and raised his bat.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

He brought the bat down hard on to her head. The zombie slumped and moaned pathetically. Stan shut his eyes and hit her again. He kept hitting her until the moaning finally stopped. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes. Mary lay in the foetal position, her glassy eyes staring at him. Her face, or what remained of it, was a battered, bloody mess. Stan paled and clamped both hands over his mouth. Oh god, he really was going to throw up this time...

He jumped as someone gently touched his shoulder.

"Dude, I think you need to go help Kyle," Kenny said.

Stan looked at him quizzically, then turned to find Kyle. His friend had managed to fell the fat zombie who lay silent and unmoving at his feet. To his horror, Kyle was still hitting the guy, giving a loud war-cry every time he brought the shovel down on to his head. Stan ran over to him and grabbed the handle of the shovel, just as Kyle tried to land another blow.

"Dude, stop! He's dead!"

Kyle gazed at Stan with an oddly distant look on his face, as though he'd just been woken up from a deep sleep. They both looked down at the zombie. His face was a mess, crushed beyond recognition. His eyes had swollen and his nose was nothing but a mush of blood and bone. A pool of blood was spreading around the man's battered head. Kyle swallowed hard, his face ashen.

"I...I..." he stuttered.

"Come on, let's go inside," Stan said gently. He put his arm around his friend's shoulders and turned him away from the horror.

Now that the danger was over, with a bit of pulling and pushing the crush in the doorway finally cleared and the kids were able to get back into the school. Everybody walked back to their classrooms slowly as though in a trance. No-one spoke. No-one wanted to.

Mr Stanislavski was sitting behind his desk doing some breathing exercises when the fourth graders arrived. He jumped up in alarm as they came in and positioned himself behind a little fort of text-books he'd built on the desk. Fortunately, the kids didn't seem very interested in him.

"We need a plan, guys," Stan was saying to the group, who were all standing with their backs to the teacher. "We don't know how many of them are out there."

"It's the whole fucking town, dude!" Cartman said.

"Er, excuse me," Mr Stanislavski said, from the safety of his fort.

"We need to get out of here while we still can," Token said.

"Where are we supposed to go?" Stan asked. "According to Cartman, the whole town's over-run. No, we've gotta stay here and barricade ourselves in."

"What? Are you nuts!" Red cried.

"Have you got any better ideas?" Stan snapped.

"Um," Mr Stanislavski said. "Why don't we all take our seats and - "

"If we go out there we're going to die," Stan said, cutting him off.

Mr Stanislavski had had enough. He could take all the pranks and insults and bad behaviour, but the one thing his ego couldn't take was being ignored. He rounded his desk and strode up to the group, puffing out his skinny chest as he did so. One by one, the kids turned to look at him. Mr Stanislavski pulled himself up to his full height, which was pretty impressive. He was a very tall, thin man with a mop of dark brown hair and a small wispy beard. He wore a light brown suit and an eye watering pink and orange Hawaiian shirt, which made him look like a badly dressed pipe cleaner. He loomed over them, arms folded.

"Recess is over," he said, his voice shaking with anger. "Take your seats now." He glanced nervously at Stan's baseball bat. "Please."

Stan turned to face him, cradling the bat. Stanislavski backed off a little. "Listen dude, we don't have time for this," Stan said. "The town is being attacked by zombies. We've already killed two but there could be a load more heading this way and - "

"Wait...zombies?" Stanislavski asked incredulously.

"Yeah. Like I said, we've already killed two." The teacher's expression became sceptical. "Go look in the playground if you don't believe me."

Stanislavski straightened his jacket. "Right," he said. He walked to the classroom door and looked back at them quickly. "Right," he said again. He disappeared.

"Douche," Stan muttered. He span and faced the others. "Look, either you're with me or you're not. It's up to you. All of you."

There was a short, tense silence.

"Stan's right," Wendy said eventually. "It's too dangerous to leave. We'd better go round the school and tell everybody else what we're planning to do. Come on guys."

Bebe, Red, Clyde, Jimmy, Timmy and a few others reluctantly followed her as she strode out into the corridor. On their way out they passed Mr Stanislavski. He wandered back into the classroom, looking very sick.

"Now do you believe me?" Stan asked him.

Stanislavski leaned against the wall, looking like he might faint at any moment. He nodded slowly.

"What do we do now, Stan?" Butters asked.

The class gazed at him expectantly. Stan couldn't help feeling slightly annoyed by this. Just a few minutes ago he'd been the class loser, now suddenly they were looking to him to save them. There was a small part of him that was tempted to tell them all to fuck off and figure it out themselves.

"I guess the main thing we need to do now is block up the windows in here. And both entrances into the school need to be barricaded. Cartman, can you handle that?"

Cartman looked up, surprised. "Why me?"

"Because you _are_ a fucking barricade, dude," Kenny said with a smirk.

"Ai! Screw you Kenny!"

"Goddamit Kenny," Stan muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Cartman, you're bigger than us and you can move more stuff. That's why I suggested it."

"Oh, okay," Cartman said, slightly mollified. "I can do that."

Stan raised his eyebrows. "You'll do it? Really?"

"Dude, I don't want those fucking things in here any more than you do."

"Okay," Stan said slowly, eyeing Cartman warily. He couldn't tell whether the fat boy had an ulterior motive or whether he was actually being helpful for once. "Thanks Cartman."

Cartman shrugged and left. Butters followed him to the door.

"I'll help you Eric!" he called and ran after him.

Stan turned to the few remaining kids. "Okay, let's get those windows covered."

The kids – and Mr Stanislavski – began to stack desks and chairs up against the classroom's two windows. Stan began to relax as he watched the barricade taking shape. Maybe, just maybe they were going to make it through this alive.

"So what's the plan?" Craig Tucker asked Stan as he picked up a chair from beside him.

"Uh, this is the plan."

Craig looked at the growing barricade. "This is it?"

"It's all I've got right now," Stan admitted. Craig looked unconvinced. "Look, all we've gotta do is keep the zombies out until someone comes to rescue us. It'll be fine. Trust me!" Stan imbued the "Trust me!" with as much confidence as he could, which wasn't much. Craig shook his head as he took his chair to the blockade.

"Do we really have to call them zombies?" Mr Stanislavski asked.

Stan span and stared at him. "What?"

"Well, zombie is such a degrading word," Stanislavski said. "They can't help being dead. We should call them something like...the living impaired. Can we try that, see how it feels? Come on everybody, say it with me. The living impaired."

Stan and Kyle exchanged glances. A few of the kids muttered: "The living impaired" while trying not to look at each other.

"Uh guys?" Craig said nervously. He was standing at the window, peering out through the barricade. "There's a whole bunch of zom...the living impaired heading this way."

Stan ran over to join him. Their classroom looked out over the front of the school and, sure enough, coming up the path to the front entrance was a large group of about twenty zombies. Stan leaned closer to the window, his nose pressing up against the glass. A little further up the road there was another slightly smaller group making its way slowly towards the school. Stan paled. Over thirty zombies, about to attack the school.

"What's happening, Stan?" Kyle asked.

"Er..." Stan gulped. Suddenly his plan didn't seem so secure after all.

"We're screwed, that's what's happening," Craig said.

"S'up fags." Everyone jumped at the sound of Cartman's voice. He had come back into the classroom with Butters and was looking critically at the desks and chairs piled up against the windows. "Oh great. Now we've got to sit on the floor like a bunch of hippies."

"Cartman, tell me you've done it!" Stan said.

"Yeah, I've done it," Cartman said. "We put lockers over the back door and the fire exit. Those undead assholes ain't getting in that way." He looked around at the tense faces in front of him, bemused. "Why, what's up?"

Stan had a sudden sinking feeling in his stomach. "What about the front door?" he asked urgently. "You blocked the front door, right?"

No sooner had he spoken than they heard screams echoing from down the hall. Intermingled with the screams were long low moans.

Cartman gave an embarrassed grin."Oops," he said.

"Goddamit Cartman!" Kyle shouted.

"W-what do we do?" Butters asked fearfully.

"Come on!" Stan shouted. "Everybody out the wind – oh."

"Nice going, asshole!" Token said. "Now we're trapped!"

Stan ran to the classroom door and looked out into the hall. It was filled with screaming, panicking kids, all looking for an escape route. Some of the slower ones were grabbed by the zombies, while others piled back into their classrooms and slammed the doors. There were a lot of banging sounds, as people tried to tear down their makeshift barricades.

"Guys, we've gotta clear the back way!" Stan said. "Cartman, lets go."

"What? Why me?" Cartman asked.

"Because it's your fault we're in this mess, butt-for-brains!"

"It's your fault for asking me to help!" Cartman fired back. "Anyway, Butters was there too! It's way more his fault than mine."

"For fucks sake, we haven't got time to argue!" Stan shouted. He ducked out into the hallway, ignoring Kyle's cries for him to stop.

He glanced behind him. It was carnage – the walls and floor were spattered with blood and there were even a few limbs lying around. The zombies were pre-occupied with the few kids they had caught and hadn't yet noticed him. Stan sprinted up the hall and began pushing one of the three sets of lockers that covered the back door.

He threw his full weight against it and it moved a couple of inches, making a loud scraping noise as it moved across the floor. Even with all the noise in the hallway it was loud. Stan gulped and looked up. The sound had attracted the attention of a few zombies, who abandoned their attempts to get into the classrooms and started to move towards him. Stan looked around for his baseball bat and spotted it where he'd dropped it a little further up the hall. He chewed his lip, unsure whether to make a grab for it or carry on trying to move the locker.

"Somebody HELP!" he yelled.

His cry for help got lost in amongst the swell of noise. Stan gave the locker another desperate push, but this time it wouldn't budge. He leaned back against it, breathing hard. _I'm going to die_, he thought. He'd never been so certain about anything before, and with that clarity came a sudden calmness. He walked over and picked up the baseball bat.

_At least I can go down swinging, _he thought.

Stan stepped forward, raised the bat and got ready to die.

**Chapter 8 up soon...**


End file.
